


friends on the other side

by Purpleskiesofdragons



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bickering, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Getting Back Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Hell Yeah Snakes, Origin Story, Weird Trees, and also cats, but not romantically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:02:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27996456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Purpleskiesofdragons/pseuds/Purpleskiesofdragons
Summary: In the beginning, they are not people. They are not Sides, nor are they anything particularly special. They are just Anxiety and Deceit and Intrusive Thoughts. Nothing more, nothing less.Eventually, however, the one that is Intrusive Thoughts begins to think.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Deceit | Janus Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Everyone, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Logic | Logan Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Morality | Patton Sanders
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8
Collections: SHIP WARS Secret Santa 2020





	friends on the other side

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Queen_Fateclaws](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queen_Fateclaws/gifts).



In the beginning, they are not people. They are not Sides, nor are they anything particularly special. They are just Anxiety and Deceit and Intrusive Thoughts. Nothing more, nothing less.

Eventually, however, the one that is Intrusive Thoughts begins to think. They start off with a _what if I did this_ , to _what will happen after I do this_ _,_ to _can I do this again?_ And thus, after much thought, the Nothingness named Intrusive Thoughts makes a Form.

It’s not a special Form by any means, and certainly doesn’t resemble anything quite human. The head is misshapen, if the writhing ball of gas with a mouth and two gaping eye holes could be called that, the torso twisted, and the hands and feet (claws, perhaps) curled and jagged. It walks like a diseased thing, stumbling, tottering, but the mouth slit is tipped into a grin, revealing crowded rows of broken-off teeth. It may not be perfect— it’s far from perfect, really— but it is happy.

Deceit and Anxiety look on as Intrusive Thoughts evolves, though both are hesitant to make such a drastic change to their own shapeless, formless beings. They’ve developed a quiet attachment to simply existing as Nothing, and it’s really not so bad, is it? 

But one day, Intrusive Thoughts comes staggering back, its gait now remarkably more stable than it was when it was created, and an excited gleam is shining from the depth of its eye sockets.

“Look,” it hisses, beckoning to Deceit and Anxiety with one limb. “I have found something that I think you will like. Come see, brothers.”

 _Brothers?_ Deceit manifests. _What is this nonsense you speak of, Intrusive Thoughts?_

“It’s a term used between beings born from the same entity,” Intrusive Thoughts explains. “Were we not?” Deceit mulls this over, exchanging a glance with Anxiety, but neither of them can find anything that disproves Intrusive Thought’s theory. They have no recollection of how they Became, much less their relationship, but it makes enough sense for them not to argue. Intrusive Thoughts grins, and beckons to them again. Reluctantly, they follow.

For a long period, they travel in Nothingness like the kind of Nothingness they are made of, not uttering a word except occasional groans of boredom and discomfort. It takes Anxiety’s Sharp manifest— _Look!_ — for them to notice a Light that has appeared in the distance. It pulses with strange colors and energies, unlike anything Anxiety or Deceit have ever seen, but Intrusive Thoughts simply urges them to keep going. 

As they draw closer, they make out the shapes of Forms, _new_ Forms, exploding into being so fast that they pile up on top of each other and spill down the sides of the heap. Three larger Forms take up the main space— one is dressed in white and red and gold, with a pulsing red aura; another in black, with a blue aura; and a third in grey, with a lighter blue aura. Their Forms are a great deal more refined than Intrusive Thought’s, with long, neat fingers and sturdy appendages; organized in the place of Intrusive Thought’s disorganization, beautiful in place of Intrusive Thoughts’ ugliness. They still carry traces of Nothingness’s clutches, yet are leagues ahead in development, already able to create things out of nothing like they were born prodigies. Deceit gives voice to this thought hesitantly— _They are not like us. They are_ ... Its thought wavers, pauses for a moment, settling on the right word with a note of unease. _Better_.

“We can learn,” Intrusive Thoughts argues excitedly. “I’ve been watching them— the red one is Creativity, the blue one is Logic, and the cyan one is Morality. They’re really nice— I bet they’ll teach me to make that!” It points one hand excitedly at a creation grooming its paws, and makes an odd noise with its mouth as it spreads its hands open, palms up. The creation’s head rises at the nosie, large ears twitching with curiosity, and scampers toward Intrusive Thoughts. Intrusive Thoughts’ smile widens into something almost genuine, almost Light, as the creation steps into his hands.

Key word, _almost_ , as it makes an odd, aborted sound, and shrivels to ash in Intrusive Thoughts’ hands.

It’s as if time has died with it, stopped in tracks, breath rattling to a gasping halt in its throat. Something has tainted the air that wasn’t there before, something that reeks worse than Nothingness and creates a rising feeling of nausea in the throats of all present. Slowly, slowly, Morality, Creativity, and Logic raise their heads, a new expression carved raw and deep into their faces. Somehow, Intrusive Thoughts, Deceit, and Anxiety know that this is grief. Loss. Pain. Anger.

“Why did you do that?” Morality asks, voice trembling. Its eyes, a shade of aqua that matches its aura, glisten with a liquid that spills over the rims of its eye sockets and over its face, and where the liquid hits the ground, the Nothingness shivers. “You’ve—” It struggles to find the right words and ultimately fails, its Form curling dejectedly in on itself. Intrusive Thoughts starts forward, but it cringes back. 

“You’re smiling,” accuses Logic from beside it. “You made Morality sad and you’re _smiling?_ ” Intrusive Thoughts falters, raises one hand to its face, runs it over its crooked, bared teeth. Its mistake is suddenly very clear— it doesn’t yet know how to form something other than a smile and never thought it would need another expression. Now, however, it can’t get the damned smile to disappear. 

“I didn’t mean it,” Intrusive Thoughts tries. “I didn’t know—” It approaches Morality apologetically, but under its hands, the Nothingness grows, eating up small patches of creations and sending others fleeing for cover.

“Stop, stop!” Creativity exclaims shrilly, scooping creations into its arms and away from Intrusive Thoughts. “How can you not know?” 

“Know what?” Intrusive Thoughts asks, freezing in place. 

“That you killed it,” Creativity says bluntly. 

“What is killed?” Creativity glares. 

“Are you mocking me?” it asks. 

“Mocking?”

“Stop repeating them,” Morality interjects. It’s still huddled by where the creation had dusted, hands pawing at the ground as if it could reform the ashes back to life. “Haven’t you done enough?” 

“What did I do?” Intrusive Thoughts says desperately. It shifts in place anxiously, claws tearing up and blackening the ground around it, but Morality makes a small noise of protest at the motion and it stops with some degree of difficulty. It’s quickly growing more distressed, and Anxiety ducks its head nervously when it feels the familiar prickle of tension beginning to penetrate the air. The whole gathering is waiting for someone to break it, and eventually, Logic does. 

“I think you should leave,” it says grimly. 

“We just got here, though,” Intrusive Thoughts protests. Creativity gives a sharp, angry huff.

“You just destroyed something,” it corrects. “You can’t be here. Do you understand?” No, Intrusive Thoughts _doesn’t_ understand; Anxiety can see it thinking frantically, forcing itself to stay still and calm, struggling to understand something it simply doesn’t know. In the end, Anxiety and Deceit have to lead Intrusive Thoughts away before it tears apart itself trying to understand. 

* * *

“What did I do wrong?” Intrusive Thoughts bursts out when they’re back in the safety of their own domain. Confusion and disbelief radiate from its Form, but there’s something else underneath it— something darker, something new born from rejection and confusion. 

_I believe you have killed a creation_ , Deceit manifests slowly. _Killed_ is a new word that it rolls over its tongue, but it’s sharp, jagged, disgusting. It’s an _ugly_ word, and Deceit spits it out bitterly. None of them know what it means, but seeing the others’ reactions to it, it must have been bad.

“But I didn’t want to,” Intrusive Thoughts replies, pacing. “How did I kill it? Can I fix it?” 

_No_ , Anxiety manifests almost immediately. Oddly, it’s more discontent than Intrusive Thoughts, its Form writhing as it thinks, thinks, thinks, _worries_. _This is permanent. I can feel it_. 

“Why can’t I fix it?” Intrusive Thoughts argues, distress coloring its tone. 

_What we’ve done is irreparable_ , Anxiety goes on. Its aura is flickering wildly as it turns over the new development in its head. _They’re angry at us. They…_ It searches for a word until it lands on a new one, one that taints the air as they manifest it into existence. Deceit and Intrusive Thoughts both involuntarily shiver as Anxiety finishes, ... _hate us._

 _Hate?_ Deceit repeats. _What does that mean?_

“It has something to do with how they felt,” Intrusive Thoughts says hoarsely. “It’s worse than anger and sadness.” They contemplate the word for a few moments, none of them liking the uncomfortable feeling stirring within their Forms.

 _Maybe we hate them too,_ Deceit manifests quietly. Anxiety and Intrusive Thoughts turn to Deceit, bemused; Deceit shifts, but it doesn’t falter. _I don’t like what I feel right now. I don’t like what they said. I’m angry about what they said._

“But what if we create something for them?” Intrusive Thoughts suggests. “Maybe we can stop the feeling?” The others make noncommittal uneasy noises, and it huffs, turning away and concentrating on a patch of Nothingness. Nothing happens. It tries again. 

Nothing. 

_Let me try,_ Deceit manifests slowly. It hovers forward before stopping beside Intrusive Thoughts, concentrating, and the others can see something _else_ enter their aura, a tendril of darkness that writhes and contorts itself within Deceit’s Form. There is a silence, before Nothingness begins to ripple, and out crawls a _creation_. Its Form is skeletal, fur and skin clinging to bones, and the tail is nothing but a twitching husk. It’s starkly different from the creation that Intrusive Thoughts killed, but Intrusive Thoughts bends down all the same, hands extended in a repeat performance. Deceit and Anxiety watch it uneasily, waiting for the Form to crumble to pieces, but to their surprise, it curls up in Intrusive Thoughts’ hands contentedly. 

“How did you do that?” Intrusive Thoughts asks shakily. “What was the darkness?” Deceit considers for a few moments. 

_Hate._

* * *

With hate, Deceit is quick to teach Anxiety and Intrusive Thoughts to manifest similar creations, though Intrusive Thoughts’ are by far the most unique. _(Neither Anxiety nor Deceit question why the Hate pulses and swells differently in Intrusive Thoughts like it does for them.)_ Like it, they are crooked and jagged and broken, but Intrusive Thoughts loves them with its entire being. Deceit recreates a long, slender being it saw curled around Morality’s shoulder— a snake, it names the creature— and spends most of its days making snakes to drape over its own shoulders. Anxiety is rarely seen creating, but every so often, a shadowy cat haunts its trail as it travels around its domain. 

They make new Forms, too. After a bit of thinking and experimenting, their Forms become as refined as Morality and Logic and Creativity’s, though Deceit paints snake scales over one half of its face, and Intrusive Thoughts and Anxiety both enjoy flickering between Nothingness and corporeality. 

Next is learning how to push the Nothingness. It takes the right kind of Thought _(hate)_ but once they’re Thinking properly, their domains expand and overlap, until Intrusive Thoughts’ warped creations are surrounded by Anxiety’s purple fog and inhabited with Deceit’s snakes. Anxiety doesn’t say it out loud— it rarely expresses anything other than, well, anxiety— but it secretly enjoys playing with Intrusive Thoughts’ creatures and curling up under a tree with several in tow. On days when the fog is the thickest, Intrusive Thoughts, Deceit, and Anxiety assume their Nothingness forms and race, bodies twisting around tree trunks and creations with no physics to stop them. They play and create and culture their hate, feeding on the wound that festers within them, and grin as more new and dark things are born.

* * *

Deceit and Anxiety are sitting in one of Intrusive Thoughts’ trees, swinging their legs over the edge, when Anxiety asks suddenly, “What else is beyond our domain?” Deceit shrugs. 

“The others, I suppose,” he replies. Though it never bears much significance to them, they’ve all experimenting with _he_ and _she_ and _they_ and _it_ until Deceit and Anxiety land on _he_ , Intrusive Thoughts on _they_ or simply nothing at all. “I’ve never bothered to look.” Anxiety nods, mouth pressed into a thin line. 

“Have they changed, do you think?” he asks. 

“Why does it matter?”

“Just want to see,” Anxiety muses. “I wonder if they’ve expanded their domains like we have.” 

“Maybe,” Deceit snorts. Anxiety bobs their head in agreement, and doesn’t bring up the question again. 

* * *

It’s becoming harder to find Anxiety, Deceit realizes one day. When he’s not hanging out with Intrusive Thoughts’ creatures, he’s nowhere to be found in his entire domain, and when he returns, Deceit can tell that his mind is elsewhere. Deceit questions him, but the answer is always the same— _Just stuff. Don’t worry about it_. 

Deceit worries. 

* * *

“Deceit, Deceit,” Anxiety calls excitedly. Deceit raises his head groggily, shaking himself out of the stupor of sleep.

“What?”

“I’ve just had a great idea,” Anxiety says, practically bouncing on his feet. It’s unusual for Anxiety to find him, as he’s usually the one looking for Anxiety, but even more so that he’s this excited. Sensing the importance, Deceit sits up and gestures for Anxiety to continue. “So you know how you named your creation a snake, right?” Deceit nods, bemused. “What if we did that with ourselves?”

“Isn’t Anxiety a good name?” Deceit asks.

“Yes, but a new name would be really cool. Aren’t you tired of just plain old Deceit?” Secretly, Deceit isn’t really, but it makes Anxiety happy, so he nods along. Anxiety giggles— he must be _really_ excited— and suddenly he’s ducking his head, playing with his fingers and hiding a smile.  
“I was thinking of Virgil,” he suggests shyly. “What do you think?” Deceit repeats the name, tastes it, and finds that it rolls pleasantly off his tongue. It feels _right_ for Anxiety, and he gives the other a thumbs-up.

“It’s really good,” Deceit says warmly. Virgil beams, and his purple aura glows brighter to match. “Where’d you come up with the idea?” At the question, Virgil’s aura flickers briefly, but it’s so fast, Deceit doesn’t take note of it. It hardly seems like it matters, so Deceit forgets it quickly.  
“It doesn’t matter,” Virgil says dismissively. “Do you want one? A new name?” 

“Sure,” Deceit replies. He thinks hard for a name, but as much as he tries to find one that has the same ring to it as “Deceit,” he can’t quite find one that fits. Seeing his frustration, Virgil tips his head to the side, thinking. 

“What about Janus?” he asks. 

“Janus,” Deceit repeats. Like with Virgil’s name, he says it a few times, and after the fifth time, he’s gotten strangely accustomed to the way his mouth forms the name. 

“I like it,” he says slowly. 

“Like what?” Intrusive Thoughts interrupts suddenly, popping up from behind Virgil’s shoulder. Virgil screams and bats at Intrusive Thought, who cackles and ruffles Virgil’s hair. 

“We were discussing names,” Virgil huffs after he’s shoved Intrusive Thoughts off, “before you barged in.” 

“Names? What’s wrong with ‘em?” 

“I wanted to change mine,” Virgil explains. “How does Virgil sound to you?”

“Viiiiiirgil,” Intrusive Thoughts says thoughtfully, drawing the name out. “Viiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiirgil. Virgil. Virgey. Virge. Vir—”

“That’s enough,” Virgil snaps, though he’s trying to hide his smile again. “Do you like it?” 

“I love it, Virge-o!” Intrusive Thoughts chuckles. “What about you, Dee? You got a new one, too?” 

“ _Deceit_ ,” Janus corrects. “But it’s Janus now.” 

“Snazzy! I’ll be…” Intrusive Thoughts thinks for a moment. “What about Remus? Intrusive Thoughts is kinda long, anyways.” 

“Whole mouthful,” Janus teases. “No one has time for that.” 

“Fuck off,” Remus groans, and Janus snickers, Virgil joining in quietly with a laugh that shakes his whole body. Remus pounces on Janus, growling playfully, and Janus twists away from them, shifting into Nothingness to dart away between the trees. Behind him, he can hear Virgil shrieking with laughter as Remus turns to him, and smiles to himself as he puts on an extra burst of speed. 

* * *

“Where does he go?” Remus asks one day. Them and Janus are perched in a tree, a situation similar to the conversation Virgil and Janus had earlier, but Intrusive Thoughts hangs upside down, their form shifting between green-tinged Nothingness and the rather elaborate costume they’ve had a habit of manifesting. After the name party, as Remus dubbed it, Virgil had fallen back into the habit of disappearing, and neither had seen him since. Janus doesn’t miss the hurt lurking in Remus’s eyes, the hurt that he himself has been trying to hide. _Wasn’t Virgil happy?_

“I don’t know,” Janus replies honestly. He sweeps his gaze over their domains, looks over the myriad of creations they’ve made, but Virgil’s trademark purple glow cannot be seen. _As usual_. 

“Do you think he goes to visit the others?” Remus says suddenly. Janus freezes, remembering, remembering, remembering ( _“Just wanted to see,” Anxiety had said_ ), but he can’t confirm anything, doesn’t _know_ anything. He doesn’t _know_ if it’s fear or denial that allows another “I don’t know” to slip from his lips. 

* * *

“For once, I’ve found you,” Janus jokes as he settles in beside Virgil. It’s taken a whole two days, but Janus finally finds him under a tree on the very edge of his domain, covered in a posse of shadowy cats. At first, Virgil protests when Janus pokes him to get up, but eventually allows Deceit to take them to their usual tree.

“Maybe I just want to be left alone,” Virgil grumbles, running one hand absently over his cat’s back, but there’s no bite to the statement. 

“You’re missing out on all the fun then,” Janus replies, feigning hurt. Virgil rolls his eyes. 

“You wouldn’t miss me,” he says, scoffing. “I’m gone half the time, aren’t I?” _Don’t I know it,_ Janus thinks bitterly, but doesn’t let it slip out. 

“Yeah, but of course Remus and I miss you,” Janus says instead. “Creating isn’t nearly as fun as it would be if you were there.” Virgil frowns, unconvinced, and the two lapse into an uneasy silence. There’s an odd tension building, hovering on the tip of both of their tongues and waiting to spill out into words that carry the weight of change, of difference. When Virgil opens his mouth, Janus braces himself. 

“The others, what do you think about them?”

Janus lets out a long breath, pretending to think the question over, but inside his head, his thoughts are racing, connecting puzzle pieces in a frenzied panic. He didn’t want to believe it, but now he’s even more sure that Virgil has been watching Morality, Logic, and Creativity. Janus has seen the kind of hidden longing in Virgil’s eyes once before, and he knows what it means. And he doesn’t like it. 

“I hate them,” he says finally, springing a slapdash plan into motion with every syllable. “I don’t know what they do, but it’s different from what we do, yes?” Virgil nods uneasily. “The last time we tried to do what they did, it went horribly. So maybe…” he pauses for emphasis, watching Virgil lean forward with bated breath, “we were meant to stay apart.” 

“But it’s been so long,” Virgil insists, but he looks more unsure than he did before. _Good_. “Maybe they’re not mad at us anymore.” 

“But what if they are?” Janus tosses back. “Think about it. Sure, we haven’t seen them in a long time, but what if they associate that memory with how they view us in the future? We’ve proven that we can’t be trusted in their domain, and things might go wrong if we try again.” Virgil opens his mouth, but Janus presses on. “You saw how upset Remus was after that. We _all_ remember.” He locks eyes with Virgil as he carefully enunciates the last few words. “Do you really want that to happen to them again?” Guilt flashes across Virgil’s gaze, and Janus leans back, tasting satisfaction in place of the prior tension. Hate curls pleasingly in his chest. He’s won and both of them know it. 

After a long while, Virgil silently slides down the tree and walks back to his domain. He doesn’t say goodbye. 

* * *

Janus will never be able to describe the shift he feels when Virgil leaves. It’s stark, tangible, like a violently broken branch, and Janus’s breath catches in his lungs as the difference hits him. One hand stretches out, reaching for something to grasp, and by some miracle, his fingers find the trunk of a tree. Janus staggers over to it and sits, sliding down until the uneven roots touch his spine, and breathes harshly. _What did I do wrong?_

It’s only a matter of time before he hears crashing and sees Remus’s green aura burst from the trees, spiking with panic. 

“Where’s Virgil?” Remus demands. Janus opens his mouth, resigned, but no words come out. It’s like something’s gripped his throat, squeezing, choking the breath from him, and he drops his head in defeat. He can feel Remus’s gaze searching him, scanning him for answers, but after a little while, he can tell when Remus has connected the pieces that Janus has. 

“Didn’t you try and stop him?” The words are different ( _small, petulant, broken_ ) and in that moment, Janus _hates_ Virgil. Hates him for throwing rejection in Remus’s face again, hates him for putting the pain in Remus’s voice, hates him for _fucking leaving_. 

“I tried,” Janus confirms, trying not to let the anger seep into his voice. “I thought it worked. But…” He trails off into silence, listening to Remus’s ragged breathing. It begins to hitch, and Janus is even more ready to punch Virgil for making Remus cry, before he realizes that Remus isn’t just crying. They’re _laughing_ , a sick, twisted, sound, that doesn’t sound anything like what a laugh should sound like. It’s _how could you_ and _I thought we were friends_ and I _thought you would always be there for me_ wrapped into one. 

Janus sits there for a long time, head tucked into his arms as he listens to Remus’s broken laughter, and _hates_. 

* * *

Janus _(It’s Deceit now; he can’t bear to carry the name that Virgil left him. It hurts too much)_ and Remus visit the border between the Sides one day. Sure enough, they can see a purple glow mixed in with dark blue and cyan and red, hovering on the outskirts but still welcomed with tentative smiles. Morality, Logic, and Creativity changed their names, too— they’re Patton, Logan, and Remus, now. Virgil, strangely, has returned to Anxiety, and Deceit isn’t sure whether he’s bitter or glad that he isn’t using the name that was just for _them_. _They don’t get to take that from him._

“They don’t even like him,” Remus says darkly. They’ve kept their name, but they’ve changed; their creations didn’t stop howling for Virgil for months after he left, and the trees that Remus creates later are more twisted than they’d ever been before. Their demeanor is… different, a kind of new unhinged madness, of chaos striving to break free from its cell. 

When the fog gets thick, they don’t stop laughing. 

“They don’t,” Deceit agrees. It’s true; the Light Sides, as Remus has decided to call them, initially rejected Virgil, striving only to drive his influence away from their group. Deceit didn’t regret the dark satisfaction that arose when he saw it. _How does it feel to be rejected, huh?_

“I want to pay them a visit,” Remus says suddenly. Deceit raises one eyebrow at them; they return his skeptical expression with a knife-edged grin. “Want them to know exactly what they’ve gotten themselves into with him.” Deceit considers their proposition; he’s thought about dropping in for a visit several times, but now that Remus is on board… 

_Play it careful, Deceit. You want an entrance, not an emotional ramble._

“In time,” Deceit assures them, folding his hands behind his back. “In time.” 

* * *

Remus’s creatures howl louder when Virgil shares his chosen name. 

* * *

“You did _what_?” 

Deceit leans against a tree as Remus near-pounces on him, eyes wide and practically rolling in their sockets. Their hands grasp Deceit’s jacket, pulling him close until Deceit can see the hints of madness buried deep in their gaze and feel the unnerving prickle of their aura. 

“I visited them,” Deceit repeats coolly, unaffected by Remus’s close, almost uncomfortable proximity. 

“And?” Deceit almost doesn’t say anything, almost vanishes into Nothingness right there so he can spare Remus from the truth, but he knows that he can’t. And even if he did, Remus, armed with the grief of a madman, would find a way to tear it from him themself. 

“He’s _with_ them,” he admits finally, and Remus jerks back. They’re _thinking_ again, and the conclusion is the same every time— they don’t understand. They won’t understand. They _can’t_ understand. 

“Did he say anything to you?” 

“He didn’t want me there.”

“At all?” Remus’s voice is barely above a whisper. 

“At all,” Deceit confirms. Some of his old anger is rising to the surface as he remembers his visit, how Virgil stared at him with barely concealed disgust in his eyes. 

_“I knew something smelled fishy,” Virgil snarls. He’s wearing a black hoodie with roughly sewed-on purple patches, and dark eyeshadow is applied liberally under his eyes. He hunches on the stairs, but upon sensing Deceit’s aura sits upright, alert, like a wary animal._

_“I also smell it,” Logan adds helpfully_ **_,_ ** _still blissfully unaware. “I told Thomas to take the trash out.” Deceit almost laughs at the exasperated look on Virgil’s face._

_“No, I- it does smell bad, but I was talking about Patton,” Virgil corrects._

_“Oh, oh, oh, you mean how he’s clearly—”_

_  
_ _“Oh, I get it now!” Roman says brightly._

_“I don’t!” Thomas— a newcomer, Deceit doesn’t know him yet but he already looks gullible— interjects. “What is happening?” Roman mumbles a muffled “you have to give us permission first” in reply._

_“There are sides to everyone they prefer not to know about,” Virgil says grimly._ **_Is that so?_ ** _“But you are the boss, Thomas. Any information you want to know, you can know. You just have to be open to hearing it.”_

_“In other words, would you like to learn something new about yourself, Thomas?” Roman asks with forced cheerfulness._

_“I don’t... know.”_

_“Oooh, I don’t know either, Thomas” Deceit mocks. “You might not like what you find.”_

_“Fine! Tell me!”_

_“DECEIT!” Logan bursts out._

_Deceit lazily stalks into the mindspace, shoving Logan aside. It’s not hard, given that the other Side looks terrified out of his mind already. He adjusts his hat and lets a slow smile slide across his face as he meets eyes with Virgil._

_“Who’s she? Never heard of her,” Deceit drawls._

_“Oh, I hate this guy, and his creepy— snake face!” Roman complains. Deceit scowls at him, and he hastily amends his statement. “However, he is very kind.”_ _  
_ _“Love the new outfit, Roman. And Virgil, I adore the more intense eyeliner. It totally doesn’t make you look like a raccoon.” He’s testing Virgil, seeing if he’ll find some of that old snark, and sure enough, Virgil looks sufficiently irritated._

_“Nice gloves. Did you just finish washing some dishes?” Virgil retorts. Deceit humors him with a slow nod._

_“Why didn’t I know about him until now?” Thomas interrupts._

_“He had you convinced you’re an honest person,” Virgil explains._

_“But… I am an honest person.”_

_“Oh, you are, Thomas,” Deceit cuts in smoothly. “You are a_ **_good_ ** _person._ **_Everybody_ ** _says so.”_

He’d left the thought hanging, let it linger in Thomas’s consciousness as the other Sides practically tripped over themselves to reassure Thomas that he wasn’t a villain, that he wasn’t a liar. He won’t admit it aloud, but he had _fun_ poking their subconsciousness, enjoyed making them think and worry and _question_ themselves. 

“I hate them,” Remus snarls, releasing Deceit’s jacket. They stalk over to a tree, scoring their claws down its bark in frustration. Deceit nods in agreement, though his thoughts are still elsewhere. His latest visit made his hate writhe in ways it hasn’t before, and in that moment, Deceit had almost felt powerful. In control. Strong. 

He relishes it, and thinks about going back for another taste. 

* * *

He does, and it feels even better. 

* * *

One day, he takes Remus along, and the result is beautiful. 

Seeing them at the height of their power, surrounded by the madness that is their domain, is terrifying, sure. Their creations have far since migrated from any semblance of normality; arms and legs go where arms and legs shouldn’t, jaws sag and drip with foam, and they move in gaits similar to Remus’s original walk— stumbling, dizzy, barely in control. Yet, at their will, they move through Remus’s forest, possessed by an otherworldly mania and crying out with ugly howls that reverberate chillingly through the trees. What doesn’t become tangible life-forms become shadows, wisps, in the shadows that lurk between tree trunks, bearing uncomfortable resemblance to a someone-you-used-to-know.

Patton and Logan and Roman all shrink away from the morbid display, stumbling around the twisted roots and grasping hands that reach out at them from the shadows. They’re as terrified as baby lambs, Deceit observes from a tree, perched out of sight but with a full view of the scene. Remus is giggling to themself as they manifest more horrors— they’re feeding off the Light Sides’ fear, he realizes, and the fog is growing thicker. 

He loves it. 

* * *

“Janus.” 

Deceit doesn’t look up, but a slow smile slides across his face all the same. Outwardly, he knows that his face holds a hollow smirk, that his composure is collected as ever, but inwardly, he’s silently cursing himself because _Virgil always knew that Deceit hung out in their tree when he was lonely and goddammit why’s he so predictable? Why did he come back now?_

“You lost your right to call me that when you left,” Deceit says lowly. He can see Virgil flinch, guilt flashing across his face before it hardens again. He opens his mouth to speak, but Deceit interrupts him, raising one hand in a shushing motion. 

“No. I don’t know what you came here to do, apologize or whatnot, but I don’t want any of your ‘the Light Sides aren’t bad!’ bullshit. I don’t want half-assed apologies.” Deceit grabs Virgil by the jacket, pulling him closer until their faces are almost touching, and jabs a finger into the other Side’s chest. _(A long time ago, Deceit would’ve enjoyed the closeness; now he can barely resist the urge to deck Virgil right there.)_ “I want an explanation.” 

“I never meant to leave you forever,” Virgil mutters. Deceit lets out an incredulous laugh, but Virgil presses on. “I watched them. They created, they smiled, they laughed. They were happy.” 

“We _were_ happy,” Deceit snarls. “Did you find what we did wrong? Ugly? Not good enough?” 

“No, we weren’t,” Virgil retorts. “It took me a long time to figure out, but we learned how to create because we hurt. We learned how to create out of hate.”

“So?” 

“So, you don’t _need_ hate and anger. What we were doing wasn’t good for us. It just created more tension, more hate.” 

“Don’t you remember what they said? How they reacted when they saw us?” Deceit sneers, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice. “Is that not a reason to hate them?” 

“They’re not like that anymore,” Virgil shoots back. “We were new to them. They didn’t know how to react, but once I got to know them, I showed them how to. They learned that it was okay that I was different, and taught me how to create without hate. Look,” he adds, a note of desperation on his voice, and turns one palm skywards. From the smooth skin, a purple flower emerges, winding toward the sky, and it gently folds in on itself and disappears when Virgil closes his hands back into fists. Deceit curls his lip. 

“It’s too perfect,” he scoffs. “You shouldn’t have had to teach them anything when you were just fine before.” 

“I _wasn’t_ fine before,” Virgil argues. “No one should be forced to feed off hate. They’re confused by you, sure, but if you gave them a chance, you’ll see that you don’t _need_ to hate them anymore.” 

“You can’t ask me to just forget,” Deceit snaps, balling his fists. He’s trying so hard not to let his frustration spill into his tone, but the old hurt keeps rising to the surface with every word that Virgil says. “I don’t want to forget. They ruined us, Virgil, and they’ll ruin you, too. You think they’re just going to stop hating us?”  
“You don’t know if they still hate you!” 

“Then why are they hiding in the trees over there?” Deceit shouts, his voice rising as he points at a faintly glowing blue aura that quickly retreats behind a nearby trunk. “Do they not trust me? Are they still worried I’m going to destroy you?” 

“They want to trust you,” Virgil says desperately. “They just don’t know—”

“Exactly. They don’t know _anything_ ,” Deceit hisses. “They’re not going to change, and they’re not going to change me. Get out.” 

“Give them a chance,” Virgil repeats. He doesn’t move.

“I’m past forgiving,” Deceit growls, pushing Virgil back. The other Side nearly loses his balance on the branch, and distantly, he can hear an alarmed shout that’s quickly silenced. “Maybe I’ll let you back when you stop letting them fill your head with pretty little lies. You can’t _fix_ this.” Virgil holds his gaze for a moment before his expression closes off, and he slides down the tree. Deceit stares at Virgil’s back as he goes, hoping that he feels the burn of Deceit’s glare. The other auras surround him when he reaches them, and the quadruplet is quick to dissolve into mist and swarm away. Deceit huffs, leaning back against the tree trunk, and closes his eyes. Inwardly, he wants to believe Virgil, wants to believe that something’s changed, but he _can’t_. _He can’t let himself be broken again._

* * *

Deceit continues to watch them, resolutely ignoring Virgil but throwing in barbs when he can. He knows it annoys the other Side when he messes with Patton, and as much as it amuses him to see Patton freak out, the look Virgil gives him makes him go a little bit easier on him. Only slightly. 

The other Sides have been watching him, too. More often than not, Deceit notices one of them staring at him curiously, though they look away when they see that he’s noticed. 

“Want to take a picture so it’ll last longer?” he grouses at Roman, who’s been eyeing him for the last ten minutes. Roman opens his mouth, but Virgil shakes his head firmly. 

“Don’t be an asshole, Deceit,” is all he says. Deceit stares at him incredulously. _Me? The asshole?_ Virgil offers no other commentary the rest of the time. 

“They’re being _nice_ ,” Deceit complains to Remus when he returns. The other Side is currently hanging upside down in one of their trees, a thing with three heads and seven legs curled around one arm. At Deceit’s remark, they giggle. 

“They must like you,” they say, rolling their eyes. Though their words are light, their tone carries a bitter undertone, a question left unsaid. _Are you going to leave, too?_

“I nearly pushed Virgil out of a tree,” Deceit snorts, “so I doubt that.” Softer, more seriously, he adds, “I’m not going to leave you, Remus. Virgil doesn’t understand why the other Sides are bad, and never will. I do.” 

“Promise?” Remus asks. 

“Promise,” Deceit swears. He means it. 

* * *

“A _what_?” 

“A movie night,” Patton repeats. Deceit raises one eyebrow. He’s not sure why they sent Patton— the other Side is clearly terrified of Remus’s forest, and given that Deceit picks on him the most, he’d think Patton would be a little bit annoyed at him. 

“Why are you really here?” Deceit asks. He’s not going to deal with any of this bullshit when it’s clear that Virgil is trying to use everyone else in an attempt to play nice. 

“To invite you to a movie night,” Patton says, but he’s wavering under Deceit’s unimpressed stare. “Fine, Virgil asked me to invite you to a movie night.” 

“There we go,” Deceit sighs. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” He lets the other Side relax for a moment before snapping his fingers, vanishing and reappearing behind Patton’s left shoulder. “No.” Patton shrieks and flails away. 

“What was that for?” he protests. 

“Fun,” Deceit smirks. Patton scowls. 

“Why won’t you come?” 

“Because I don’t want to be a part of Virgil’s Be-Nice-To-Deceit party. He hates me, and I hate all of you. Simple.” 

“But he doesn’t,” Patton objects. “He talks about you all the time.” 

“What do you mean?” Deceit asks, narrowing his eyes. 

“It takes some convincing, but sometimes Virgil talks about what it was like, well, here,” Patton explains, waving one hand at the forest in front of them. He’s beginning to get one of those _looks_ , Deceit observes, and it stinks of pity and fake sympathy. He needs to shut this down now. 

“I don’t care what he told you,” he snaps. “Virgil knows nothing about what it’s like here, and clearly didn’t like it enough to stay. You don’t either, so leave me alone and let me go back to killing pretty innocent creatures, or whatever it is you think I do.” Patton flinches. 

“We don’t think that, you know,” he says quietly. “It— we thought that for a while, but Virgil told us what really happened. We’re sorry.” _Sorry? That’s all we get?_ _A fucking_ ** _sorry_** _?_

“Sorry doesn’t do shit,” Deceit snarls. “Virgil can feed you as many lies as he wants, but in the end, it’s not going to change anything. It hasn’t changed, and it’s never going to change.” 

“Why do you think it’s never going to change?” Patton asks, tipping his head. “We messed up, yeah, but we’re trying to move on and learn from the mistake. That’s different from before.” 

“Sides don’t change,” Deceit says scornfully. “You think the same thoughts and make the same mistakes and tell the same lies. There’s no ‘moving on’ and ‘learning.’”

“But there is,” Patton insists. “You just have to _let_ yourself change. It can be really hard to work yourself out of the same routine you’ve followed your whole life, but if you genuinely want things to be different, you don’t have to fight change. It’s _okay_ to change.” 

“I don’t care,” Deceit snorts. 

“Okay,” Patton shrugs. Deceit watches him impassively as he turns to leave, and makes a questioning noise when he stops and looks over his shoulder. “You’re still invited to the movie night, you know.” 

“Fuck off.” 

Long after Patton’s gone, Deceit finds himself in his and Virgil’s tree again. He turns Patton’s words over in his head. 

_It’s okay to change._

* * *

“You’re back?” Deceit asks, deadpan. This time, they’ve sent Logan, but Deceit notices that he looks anything but pleased to be here. _Good. Let’s make this short._ “No, I’m not coming to movie night or whatever you’re asking. Go waste your time somewhere else.” 

“We have popcorn,” Logan tries. 

“No.” 

Logan leaves, and Deceit continues to think. 

* * *

“Seriously, I’m getting tired of you guys,” Deceit groans. “Do you not have anything better to do?” 

“How rude,” Roman says, frowning. “Are you that tired already?”

“I don’t want you here. Go away.” 

“Why don’t you want to change?” Roman asks instead, settling down on the roots of a nearby tree. The tree, in retaliation, tries to buck him off; Roman loses his balance for a few seconds, but regains it with a firm grip on the roots, which eventually still. A leaf floats down to rest in his hair, though he doesn’t seem to notice. 

“I didn’t come here to have a heart-to-heart with you,” Deceit says. “The other one already tried. I’m not interested.” 

“I know,” Roman replies. He looks uncomfortable, but his eyes are narrowed in thought. Deceit’s seen the look before on Remus— looking for a word that isn’t quite there, searching for something they don’t fully understand. 

“Did you know, in the beginning?” Roman asks.

“Excuse me?”

“Did you know what you could do?” 

“I don’t know, did you think we _wanted_ to kill a creation?” Deceit snaps. 

“I didn’t understand you at all, and still don’t,” Roman admits. “You were different, and I got scared. I reacted out of fear, and I didn’t stop to think about anything past that. You were bad in my mind for a long time, and I was convinced it was your fault. I thought you just let yourself do whatever you wanted to, even if you hurt others.” 

“We don’t.” 

“I know, now,” Roman acknowledges. He lets out a long breath. “I’m sorry. It took me a long time to get past what I originally thought, but I’m sorry.” Deceit leans back and scrutinizes him; he’s certain that Virgil put him up to this, but the more he stares, Roman looks almost genuine. 

“What do you believe now?” Deceit asks carefully. 

“Truthfully, I don’t know,” Roman says. “I was— I was wondering if you could show me.” 

“Show you?” 

“I’ve spent a long time being afraid of your power. I think—” he takes a deep breath— “I need to learn what it is to you.” 

“How advanced of you, Roman,” Deceit says wryly. The other Side scowls at him, but the expression carries no malice. _Curious_. Deceit thinks for a moment but decides to humor him, closing his eyes, pulling on the Nothingness, and letting its familiarity wash over him until he’s submerged. He extends one hand, bending and pulling the Nothingness with two fingers until it forms a smooth, slender shape that gradually begins to lengthen and slither down his arm. When he’s sure that the Form has gained full corporeality, he shrugs the Nothingness off and opens his eyes.

“It’s beautiful,” Roman says softly. _Beautiful_ is hardly the word Deceit thinks Roman would describe his creations, but sure enough, he’s leaning forward, gently extending one hand toward the snake curiously slithering toward him. For a moment, Deceit panics— what if Roman’s touch disintegrates the snake, like Remus’s did?— but the snake slides harmlessly over Roman’s fingers, forked tongue flicking in and out as it tastes the air. Eventually, it grows bored of exploring and slithers up the tree behind Roman, using him as an extension of the trunk, leaving Deceit and Roman in awkward silence. 

“You have a leaf in your hair,” Deceit remarks. Roman looks suspiciously at him, but shakes out his hair, and the leaf falls gently into his lap.

“How long has it been there?” 

“Ten minutes, maybe.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“It was funny,” Deceit shrugs, smirking. Roman huffs, but it’s good-natured this time. 

“Thanks for letting me stay,” he says. “I appreciate it.” 

“As long as you don’t keep saying sorry,” Deceit snorts. Roman laughs— the first _real_ laugh Deceit’s heard in a long time— and nods. 

“You’re still invited to movie night, you know,” he offers. 

“No.” 

“Patton owes me five bucks, then,” Roman grins. “Catch you later, Deceit.” 

“Over my dead body.” 

Deceit watches him go. He wouldn’t dare say it out loud, but the space feels a little bit emptier without him.

* * *

“Roman’s been here.” 

Deceit doesn’t look up. “Yes.” 

“And Logan. And Patton.”

“Yes.” 

“What’s going on, Janus?” Remus asks softly. Deceit finally looks up; Remus is hovering, half-corporeal, in front of him. Their gaze is inscrutable. 

“What do you want to hear?” Deceit replies. 

“I want to know that you’re not going to do what I think you’re doing,” Remus returns. They settle and reform on the branch beside him and cross their legs underneath them. Quietly, they add, “You promised.” 

“I know,” Deceit says. 

“Why are you leaving me?” 

“It’s not what you think it is,” Deceit says. As soon as it comes out of his mouth, he knows it sounds horrible, but forces himself to keep going. “I have been talking to them, yes. And it looks really bad. But…” He hesitates. “They don’t blame us anymore, Remus.” 

“That’s impossible,” Remus growls, shaking their head. “They’ve— they’ve always—” 

“It’s not impossible,” Deceit says. “I know it sounds crazy, I know _I_ sound crazy, but something has changed, Remus. I didn’t think it could, but it did.” 

“What kind of lie have they been twisting you into?” Remus asks, tipping their head back and forth as if they’re looking for a malfunctioning part of Deceit. “Do you need help? Should I bring them back to my forest?” 

“I’m okay, Remus,” Deceit insists, but the other Side moves closer, taking Deceit’s hands and turning them over, running their own hands over his. They’re shaking, Deceit realizes. 

“They’ve done something to you,” Remus mumbles. “Something— something to your head, that’s it. I’ll get some of my creations, they can help you get back to normal. It’ll be okay, Deceit—” 

“Remus,” Deceit says softly. Remus continues to mutter to themself. “Remus. _Remus_.” 

“I can fix you,” Remus continues fervently. “I can free you. I can make sure I don’t have to— to be lonely.” 

“Remus. Look at me.” Reluctantly, Remus does; Deceit links their fingers together and squeezes their hands. 

“You don’t have to be lonely,” Deceit says firmly. “I’m not leaving you, Remus. I’m sorry that it looks that way, but I promise that I would never leave you.” 

“You will, though,” Remus rasps. “Virgil did it, and you’ll do it, too. What’s wrong with me, Deceit? Why does everyone want to leave me?” 

“ _Nothing_ is wrong with you.” 

“If there’s nothing wrong, why are you leaving?” 

“I’m not going to,” Deceit repeats. “Do you trust me?” Warily, Remus nods. “Will you come with me?” 

“Come… with? Where?” 

“To meet the other Sides,” Deceit explains. Remus jerks back, shaking their head, but Deceit doesn’t let go of their hands. “You don’t have to join them. I won’t, and you don’t need to, either. I just want you to see that they don’t hate us any more. Is that okay?” 

“It would be pointless,” Remus says lowly. “I scare them. I killed one of their creations.” 

“They forgive you,” Deceit corrects. 

“Don’t lie to me.” 

“Do you trust me?” Deceit repeats. A pause, and a nod. “Can I show you?” A nod. “Let’s go.” 

* * *

“I told you he would come!” A triumphant shout is quickly muffled, followed by a crash.

“That’s what you’ve been saying for the past week,” another voice counters crossly.

“But was I wrong?” 

Deceit knocks on the door of the Light Side’s domain. They’d arranged their territories into a single structure, with several rooms separating their spaces and a main room connecting it all. No sooner than he lifts his hand away from the door does it burst open to reveal Patton, whose glasses and hair are askew. 

“Come in!” he says enthusiastically, unable to contain the grin that splits his face. Seeing Remus lurking behind Deceit’s shoulder, he aims a gentler smile at them. “Both of you are welcome.” 

“Are you sure about this, Deceit?” Remus asks softly. Deceit nods reassuringly.

“We don’t have to stay for awhile, if you want,” he says. “I just wanted you to see.” Remus hesitates, but follows Deceit. 

Inside, a series of couches are arranged against one wall, and a staircase runs up another. The whole room is painted a simple beige, with artwork hung on every available wall and a television crammed in the remaining space. Bright white, red, and green streamers are wrapped around the staircase, and a tree is shoved in one corner, an overly large gold star balancing precariously on top. Roman waves from one couch, and Logan acknowledges them with a brief but friendly nod from another. Thomas is squeezed between the two, looking mildly uncomfortable. 

“Hey,” a voice says softly from Deceit’s right. Deceit turns to see Virgil half-hidden among the streamers, leaning awkwardly against the banister. He’s got new purple patches on his jacket, and the ends of his hair are dyed magenta. Remus stiffens beside Deceit. 

“Hello, Virgil,” Deceit says cautiously. “I brought Remus.” Virgil nods, but he keeps his gaze fixed on the ground. 

“I’m sorry,” he mutters finally. “It was a dick move for me to leave like that, and I know you guys got hurt. There’s no good excuse for what I did, but I hope you can forgive me eventually. I—” his voice falters— “I missed you.” 

“I wish you’d told us,” Remus says quietly. “We might not have understood, but it would’ve been better than straight-up leaving.”

“I know. When I heard your creations, I realized that I didn’t really think about how you’d feel. I just wanted to see what it was like, to prove that maybe I could change something, and got caught up in it.” Remus is silent for a moment, and for a tense moment, Deceit thinks that maybe reopening the fracture in Virgil and Remus’s relationship wasn’t a good idea, but to his surprise, Remus steps around Deceit and pulls Virgil into a hug. Virgil startles, but relaxes into the embrace, returning the hug just as tightly. 

“I’m so sorry,” he mumbles. Remus nods into his shoulder, and from behind them, one of their creations— a shadowy cat, Deceit notices— manifests and begins to twine around Virgil’s legs. Virgil lets out a wobbly laugh.

“Is that—?” 

“She really missed you,” Remus says softly. Virgil eventually releases them to pick up the cat, letting it hop onto his shoulders, and turns to Deceit. 

“Do I still look like I was washing dishes?” Deceit asks dryly. Virgil ducks his head in embarrassment, before accepting Deceit’s hug. 

“You owe me twenty,” Patton crows from behind them. 

“You were _betting_?” Virgil protests, disentangling himself from Deceit and scowling at the other Sides. Logan nods, his mouth set in a thin line as he hands a folded slip of paper to Patton. 

“And fifty if they stay to watch the movie,” Patton adds. Deceit aims an inquiring glance at Remus, whose eyebrows are drawn together in bemusement. 

“What’s a movie?” they ask.

“They’ve never seen a movie?” Roman exclaims indignantly. “They’ve been missing out on _everything_!” He launches himself off the couch, drags a box from underneath the tree, and begins to rifle through it. 

“I vote _The Nightmare Before Christmas_ ,” Virgil calls out. Logan starts to protest, and he holds up one hand. “I am _not_ watching _Home Alone_ again. Plus, Patton likes Jack.” 

“Two for _The Nightmare Before Christmas_ , one for _Home Alone_ ,” Roman lists. He looks expectantly at Remus and Deceit. 

“ _Nightmare Before Christmas_ sounds fun,” Remus suggests tentatively. Deceit nods in agreement. 

“Four to one,” Roman concludes in satisfaction. He chooses a case and removes the disk, then sticks the disk in the TV. A picture of a skeleton in a pinstriped suit flickers to life on the screen, and Patton whoops. 

“Come sit with us!” he invites. Remus takes a place on an armrest while Patton launches himself at Logan, provoking a muffled grunt from the other Side when he lands beside him. Virgil tugs Deceit onto a third couch as Roman dims the lights. 

“I’m so glad you’re back now, Deceit,” Virgil murmurs as the movie begins to play, resting his head on Deceit’s shoulder. Deceit hums softly in agreement.

“It’s Janus to you.” 

**Author's Note:**

> And that's all! Hope you enjoyed :)  
> Title taken from Thomas Sanders' "Friends on the Other Side" mashup.  
> This work was also inspired by Teardroppeddew's "Good For You" Sanders Sides animatic on YouTube. Go check it out sometime!


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